Fortunate folk
by BHP
Summary: At the end of 'Calculated risk' in season 2, Don tells Daniel to call him whenever he wants to talk. After the wedding in 'Soft target' Daniel does just that.


Author's note: All the usual disclaimers apply – I don't own the show or the characters, only the words on this page. This follows on directly at the end of 'Soft target', and includes references to, and a character from, 'Calculated risk'. As always, I'd love to hear what you think.

**Fortunate folk  
****by BHP**

It had been a beautiful wedding. Don looked out at the garden, considering the clean-up ahead and thinking about where best to lend a hand. Then he just let himself stare out the window, seeing the white chairs, the flowers, and remembering all the smiling, joyful people who had filled that space a short while earlier. His father had done a masterful job in organising everything, although he'd never imagined he'd see his father obsessing over flower arrangements. That was more his mom's style. His mother would have enjoyed today. She'd always loved weddings. The only thing that would have made today's wedding better for her, held as it had been at the house, would have been if he or Charlie had been the groom. His dad wasn't the only one who loved the topic of grandchildren.

Don sighed and felt a visceral tug somewhere deep inside. A yearning for the happiness and belonging he could so clearly see and feel between Val and her husband Ben. He knew that he changed the subject, or made a joke of it, every time his father mentioned marriage and grandchildren, but standing alone and unnoticed in the kitchen now, Don could admit the truth. He wanted that happiness, that sense of contentment, but he was too afraid to reach out for it. Not to mention he was pretty sure that there wasn't a woman out there who'd be prepared to cope with his job and its demands, the fears and stresses it carried, and the effects it had on him. Kim had understood it all completely, and accepted it, and even that relationship had crumbled.

Then there was the singular truth he'd finally managed to articulate to Alan and Charlie after the murder of Judge Trelane's wife: he didn't want to be a risk to someone he loved, a reason for them to fear harm. Charlie and his dad coped as well as they could, given that they had no choice in the matter, but he didn't want someone else to suffer that way too. It was bad enough to cause someone pain unwittingly, as he'd done to Charlie by asking Val to the prom. But to know that the possibility of causing more pain was there, and then to do nothing to avoid it, was worse. And it wasn't something he planned to do to anyone. Not if he had a choice.

As if the thought had been enough to conjure them, Don heard his brother and father come into the kitchen behind him. They'd also discarded their jackets and ties now that the last of the guests had left. Charlie was still extolling the virtues of his mathematically designed seating chart.

"But Dad, don't you see how easy it would be to get everyone where they're supposed to be without any delays?"

"Yes, Charlie. But sometimes it's about more than speed and accuracy."

"I'm not following." The confusion was clear, and Don chuckled quietly.

"It's about the people, Chuck."

"Don't call me that." Charlie swatted Don's arm lightly, then flicked one unruly curl of hair out of his eyes. "Now explain yourself."

"It's a wedding. People want to chat, talk to people they haven't seen for a while."

"That's exactly it." Alan's enthusiasm made Don smile at Charlie, while Alan kept talking. "It's all about reconnecting with friends and family."

"Okay." Charlie smiled back, and Don saw how he filed the fact away for future reference.

Don stared out at the garden again and couldn't help the laugh.

"What's so funny?" Charlie looked out the window, but couldn't see a reason for laughter.

"I was just thinking about Aunt Irene." Don was still chuckling. "She loves weddings. Can't you just picture her out there, checking everything over one more time, and telling everyone how she'd do it better?"

"Wasn't seeing her at her party bad enough?" Charlie easily sidestepped his father's admonishing finger. "Come on, Dad, admit it. You didn't enjoy it either."

"It mattered to her that we were there." Alan wasn't going to budge on that.

"Sure it did." Don felt bad for the sarcasm, but after Aunt Irene had asked him three times why he wasn't already married, he'd lost any sympathy he might have had for her.

"Don, you know she loves to see you boys. We're her last connection to your mother."

"Yeah, Dad, but aside from that, we're fresh targets." At least Don could see the humour in the party now; and in Aunt Irene's very tactile appreciation of her family. He wasn't sure Charlie ever would. He risked a glance at his brother, to find Charlie staring at something only he could see and rubbing his right hand gently across his cheek.

"Oh, yeah." Charlie sighed. "My face can't stand another visit with her for at least a year. I'm not some toddler who needs to have his cheeks pinched and be told how adorable he is all the time."

Don looked at his father, who was losing the battle not to laugh at Charlie's disgust. "She loves you, Charlie."

"Well, she can love me from a distance. In fact, give me some time, and I'll even work out the optimal geographic separation needed."

Don and Alan both gave up the fight and laughed at that, until Charlie eventually joined in.

"Okay, Charlie, you do that."

Don smiled, and turned back to the view through the window. The gentle breeze promised by the weather service had made its appearance, and the light was changing too. Don knew his dad would want to tidy what he could before dark. "In the meantime, Dad, where do you want to start cleaning up first?"

"Well, there's not really that much to do. The caterer's already taken all the things she provided, you know, plates, cutlery, that sort of thing."

"And your phone number." Don was dry.

"That's none of your concern, my son." Alan played up his injured dignity, earning chuckles from both sons.

"The chairs?"

"No, those are from the rental company. Val's parents arranged with them that the company will send someone to collect them tomorrow morning."

"Okay, then. So we've just got all the small stuff to do." Don rolled his shirt sleeves up, seeing Charlie and his father mimic the action, then grabbed a trash bag. "Collect all the bottles and cans for recycling?"

"Definitely." Alan's hippie influences had never really faded, and Don's grin widened as he stepped out the back door, only to fade away as his phone rang. He pulled his phone from his belt in a single much-practiced movement.

"Eppes." A moment later, Don spoke again, more gently. "Hang on one second for me."

He turned to Alan and Charlie. "I have to take this. It's important."

He handed the bag to Charlie, and headed down the stairs and across the lawn, his voice fading with distance. "No, it's fine, Daniel. I said whenever."

**00-01-11-10-00**

Charlie stared down at the bag he now held and then turned to look at his father.

"He's not leaving, so do you think that means it's not work?"

"I suppose." Alan sounded as confused as Charlie felt. "Did I hear him say Daniel? Do you know if there's a Daniel at his office?"

"No, I don't think so." Charlie looked across the yard to see Don, head down, pacing slowly near the koi pond. He couldn't see Don's face, but he could recognise the intent set to Don's shoulders. Whatever the call was about, Don hadn't been lying when he said it was important. His thoughts scattered as Alan rustled another bag next to him. The door swung shut behind Alan, settling tightly into the frame with a dull thud.

"Right, son of mine. Let's get started." Alan headed down the steps to start work, followed by Charlie. He turned back to smile gently at Charlie. "I'll take cans, you get bottles. Let's give your brother a little privacy for now."

"Right." Charlie smiled back and headed towards the first bottle.

**00-01-11-10-00**

"How are you doing, Daniel?" Don was concerned. He'd told the boy to call whenever he needed to, but he'd not heard a word from Daniel until now. The sounds of sniffing over the line suggested Daniel was fighting tears. Don knew what that felt like, to want to cry until you had no tears left, but to force yourself to be strong for someone else's sake.

"I'm okay." Daniel sounded pitifully young and lonely, and miles away from anywhere near okay.

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah." Another quiet sniff. "It's just … my grandma made meatloaf today."

"She did? Is it good?" Don couldn't help the chuckle. "My dad's is great."

"I guess." Daniel sounded hesitant now. "It was good, really, but …"

"Daniel? Whatever it is, you can tell me." Don was really starting to worry now, unaware that he'd taken to pacing the lawn the same way he paced the war room at the FBI office when he was trying to crack a case. He avoided the flower arrangements near the pond without even registering their presence, although the sweet scent of the flowers lingered.

"My mom made the best meatloaf ever. She even let me help with it. My grandma's is good, but it – it just made me miss my mom. Miss being with her, you know?" The young voice needed reassurance so badly, a confirmation that what he felt wasn't wrong, that Don spoke without any thought for himself.

"I know exactly what you mean, buddy. For me, it's pancakes." Don heard the sharp clink of bottles being bagged somewhere behind him, and then ignored the sound. "My dad makes good ones, but my mom's were just – special. There was something about them that no-one else gets quite the same."

"That's it." Daniel sounded relieved, and Don pictured that small, serious face scrunched up in concentration. "I don't want to make my grandma feel bad."

"Hey, here's an idea." Don's voice was gentle. "Just tell your grandmother that meatloaf just makes you think about your mom too much right now, and that you'd like her to teach you how to make one of her favourite meals instead."

"You think that'll work?"

"I'm sure." Don waited, but Daniel was silent. The moment stretched, while Don heard another determined sniff.

"But, what if?"

"Daniel, what's really bothering you?"

"What if I start crying in front of her?"

"That's okay, Daniel. Really." Don settled into the soothing tone he used so successfully with frightened witnesses, and traumatised victims. "Your grandmother won't mind."

"But your dad said …" Daniel trailed off, and Don got the distinct impression that the boy suddenly thought he'd said too much.

"What? Buddy, what did he say?"

"That you don't cry." Daniel hesitated, then went on. "And you're okay, aren't you?"

"Mostly." It was funny, Don thought, how much easier it was to talk to Daniel about this. Rather than his father, or Charlie. Maybe they knew him a little too well. "But sometimes, you know, it's okay to cry when you're sad."

"Your dad said that too."

"If we both said it, it must be true." Don laughed quietly, picturing the look on Alan's face if he ever heard his son admitting something like that.

"So you think it's okay then?"

"Yeah, Daniel, it's okay."

"Won't I make her sad too?"

"You know, right now, I think she's probably a bit sad anyway. You've both lost someone you love, and that's going to hurt for a while. Probably a long while. But maybe, if you're there for each other right now, it'll hurt a little bit less today."

"You think so?"

"I do. I think your grandmother wants to help you." Don bit his lip, then ploughed on. "And Daniel, I do cry about my mom. I just ... just not in front of Charlie or my dad."

"You don't want to make them sad."

"That's part of it. It was really hard for them, and I promised my mom I'd be strong for them. So I do my crying alone."

Now Don could feel the emotion rising, and knew that if he didn't get it under control in the next few seconds, he'd be standing in the remnants of a happy occasion and crying like a broken-hearted child. Which is exactly how he felt whenever he ended up crying over the loss of his mom. Thankfully, it didn't happen often any more, and he usually managed to avoid his family when he did lose control. Though that was going to be impossible today, so he needed to lock the emotions down quickly.

"Don?" Daniel sound almost afraid to ask. "Do something for me?"

"If I can, buddy."

"I think your dad wants to help you, too. Like you said my grandma does."

"Really?"

"Yeah, so … maybe you should let him try."

Don hesitated. He didn't want to lie to Daniel, but there was no way he was about to make a promise like that. Then Daniel spoke again. "Like you helped me."

"How did I do that?" The tangent caught him unawares.

"Just by being there. Looking after me." Don had never really seen himself as the nurturing sort, so this was a novel experience. A watery chuckle carried down the line. "It was a bit like having an uncle, or a dad, for a couple of days."

"Oh." Don could have smacked himself for sounding so inarticulate, but he just couldn't think of anything else to say.

"I think your dad would like to do that for you."

Don knew that was true. His dad had always been the sort of father who wanted to help his children, protect them and look after them. It wasn't his fault that one son turned out to be a genius who needed more looking after than could be provided by one family. Or that the other son had made a point of learning how to stand alone. And now found it almost impossible to ask for help, even when he needed it.

"Maybe. I can't promise anything, Daniel."

"But you'll try?"

"Yeah, I'll try."

"I guess I'd better go."

"Okay, buddy. Remember what I said, call me whenever."

"Thanks. For everything. Bye."

"Bye, Daniel."

As he flipped his phone shut, Don couldn't help but empathise with Daniel. He knew how hard it had been for him to cope with his mother's death, and he'd already been an adult. He'd never had to deal with his entire world changing irrevocably in one minute and having no control over it. At least he'd had the option of keeping busy. He was no expert, not a profiler like Megan, but based on his own personal experience, he thought Daniel seemed to be coping reasonably well. And if Daniel thought talking to Don would help, then he'd talk to Daniel whenever the boy called. About whatever was on his mind, no matter what painful associations the topic might have for Don.

Don could feel his own tears building again, the emotions from Daniel's call just too close to the surface. Horrified to feel moisture on his cheeks, he quickly brushed his eyes and cheeks with the side of his thumb, before pinching the bridge of his nose hard to counteract the emotion with a physical sensation. He tipped his head back to look up into the slowly deepening twilight and let the breeze blow gently across his face, drying the last traces of moisture. Then he took a single deep breath and sighed it out. One sniff as he let his shoulders drop, and Don felt enough in control to face down his family.

**00-01-11-10-00**

Alan and Charlie had headed in opposite directions to start collecting bottles and cans. Alan had made sure that he headed towards the side of the garden where Don paced. Charlie always meant well, but sometimes his curiosity would lead him to places he should rather avoid. At least, this way, Don could get as much privacy as possible in an open space. This wasn't the sort of neighbourhood with a lot of traffic noise, though, so not being overheard to some degree wasn't really a possibility. Although, to be completely honest, Alan wasn't above trying to figure out what was going on with his eldest. Don seemed so intent on this call, but he hadn't left immediately on receiving it. That was a departure from the norm. So Alan made sure he was close enough to hear the odd words and phrases carried towards him on the shifting breeze. Even if Donnie figured out what he was doing, his eldest had too much respect for his father to complain much. He hoped.

"You can tell me." That was a tone Alan recognised. Don needed an answer to something, something important, but didn't want to push too hard. Obviously, this was an emotional issue under discussion. Then he heard 'pancakes' but the sound of Charlie dropping another bottle in his collection bag drowned out the next few words, until Alan heard, "My mom's were just – special."

Well now, that was interesting. Alan wondered who was close enough to Don that his eldest was willing to talk about his mother without prodding. And what pancakes had to do with anything at all. Then Alan's mind suddenly made the connection between the topic and the name Don had said earlier. The call had to be from Daniel Shay, that poor child who'd lost his mother so suddenly just a month ago. Alan felt the pride well up in him that his Donnie had made such a strong and caring impression on a scared young boy, during what would most likely be one of the most difficult periods of his life. He was so pleased that Don was willing to get involved with Daniel beyond the extent of his job. And in that wash of emotion, Alan realised that he also felt a small spark of pride for Daniel. No matter what Don had said to the boy at the airport – a conversation that Don had so far chosen not to detail – it still took courage to admit you needed a helping hand and to reach out for it. Daniel was making a fine start on becoming a good man.

Alan realised suddenly that he was a statue on the lawn, left hand holding a bag of cans, eyes staring blankly at Don's back. His stillness drew Charlie to him. His youngest dumped his bag of bottles on the ground at his feet, glass tinkling.

"Dad? Are you okay?"

"Yes, Charlie, I'm fine. I've just realised who your brother's talking to."

"Oh?" Charlie followed Don's pacing with abstracted interest, and Alan could almost see the equation to quantify the motion forming in Charlie's head.

"Daniel Shay."

"Oh." Charlie suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Well, maybe we should give him some space then. You know, until he's done."

As Alan nodded, the breeze turned again, gently drifting Don's words to their attention. "I do cry about my mom. I just ... just not in front of Charlie or my dad."

Two equally shocked expressions met, and Charlie started to take a step towards Don, only to be stopped by Alan's warning hand.

"Not now, Charlie."

"If you say so." Simmering anger was clear in Charlie's eyes. "But later, yes?"

Alan nodded gently, and sighed as Don's pacing brought him closer.

"I promised my mom I'd be strong for them."

"Or maybe not." And Alan pulled on Charlie's arm with his free hand to lead them both beyond the range of Don's voice. Charlie grabbed his bag, and the noise of the bottles drowned out anything else Don said.

Charlie was looking upset now, and Alan knew exactly how his youngest felt. Nineteen months now, and Donnie had never broken in front of either of them; not even once. He had to admire his son's strength, but at the same time, he cursed his own blindness. He should have known how Don would act, he should have seen through the façade. He'd known exactly how Charlie felt, how Charlie was coping – or failing to cope – but he'd never even stopped to consider what effect everything must have had on Don. Don's composure had been one less concern in his life, when it had taken all his effort to keep himself going and to support Charlie. And once again, Don had paid the price. Just as he had years ago, when Charlie and Charlie's needs had come first when the boys were still at school. Alan wasn't sure how, but he knew he was going to change things.

**00-01-11-10-00**

Charlie let his father lead him away from Don, but his mind stayed focused on what he'd just heard. It was almost a physical pain, realising how much Don had to have been hurting in order to be willing to admit it to Daniel. And somehow, he'd never noticed a thing. Oh, he was more than ready to admit that his memories of the three months before his mom's death were vague, and that the first few days, maybe weeks, after her death were a blur of tears, regrets and self-loathing. But through it all, he could also remember Don's voice, and Don's arms holding him up and keeping him close. Letting him cry without any thoughts of shame or embarrassment.

He even remembered seeing Don sitting next to their dad, on the couch in the living room, one hand resting on Alan's shoulder while his dad held a photograph of their mom and quietly cried. Not once, though, could he remember seeing a single tear in Don's eyes, or a suggestion that he was anything other than the strong, reliable older brother Charlie always depended on. Larry kept telling him that human behaviour was less elegant and more complicated than his math. Apparently, that was all too true. Maybe he should consider taking a few psychology courses as a sideline; perhaps then he wouldn't be so surprised every time he realised that there was way more to Don than ever met the eye.

"Dad." Charlie sounded as hesitant as he felt, and met his dad's eyes only to realise that Alan felt the same way. "We have to fix this."

"I know, Charlie." Alan nodded and turned to look at Don again. Charlie followed his gaze, and noted Don's singular fixation on his conversation with Daniel. At least Don hadn't noticed that they had been close enough to hear what he'd said.

"But how?"

"That, I don't know." Alan sighed, then patted Charlie on the shoulder. "But I'm sure something will come to us. After all, you're a genius, and I'm a very wise man, so how could we not think of something?"

"Something, sure." Charlie sighed too. "But will it be the right thing?"

Movement near the koi pond drew their attention, and Charlie saw something glisten on Don's face just as his brother swiped his thumb across his cheeks. Tears? His always strong big brother was crying? Charlie's world tilting alarmingly off-centre at that revelation. Charlie could see Don was fighting for control – he'd seen his brother pinch the bridge of his nose like that before – but the sigh and the sniff that followed the movement were unusual.

Charlie wanted to head over to Don, to offer a shoulder to lean on, but wasn't sure if it would be welcomed. So he simply stood and watched his older brother stare at the fish in the pond. Then he glanced at his father, shrugged his shoulders and headed over anyway. It might not be the right thing, but it was something.

**00-01-11-10-00**

"You leaving?" Charlie's voice broke into Don's thoughts, making him realise that he'd been staring at the koi for far too long.

"No. Why?" Don could sense Charlie was fishing for something. Subtle wasn't a word often associated with his brother.

"That call seemed important."

"Yeah, it was." Don sighed sadly. "That was Daniel. You know, Daniel Shay?"

"We remember." Alan's voice floated in from behind Don, and he turned to see matching looks of concern aimed at him.

"Are you guys okay?" He watched the two men trade a knowing look, and pressed on. "What's with the worried looks?"

"Just concerned, because you seemed so concerned." Alan sounded truthful, but Don sensed there was more to this than seemed obvious.

"Yeah, well," Don glanced back at the koi before meeting his dad's eyes. "I think he's just having a tough time right now. Who wouldn't?" He scrubbed a hand through his hair and carried on. "I think he just wanted to talk to someone who, I don't know, maybe … knew him, but not all that well. Does that make any sense at all?"

"It does." Alan nodded, and Don was a bit surprised to see Charlie nodding as well. Maybe Charlie had grown up more than he'd thought over the last few years. Especially if he'd understood something Don was still struggling to explain to himself.

Deep in thought, Don slowly walked away from Alan and Charlie, eventually finding himself at the steps leading to the back door of the house. He turned to find them both right behind him, closer than his shadow, settling one to each side of him when he sat down on the lowest step. They stretched their legs out in front of them, but Don pulled his up so that he could rest his arms on his knees. It was shaping up to be a pretty night. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, but sometimes the beauty in the world seemed to disappear beneath a weight of sadness and despair. It didn't hurt to be reminded of the beauty once in a while.

"So, what do pancakes have to do with that?" Alan was honestly curious, Don could tell, but he was horrified that Alan had heard enough to even ask the question. If his dad had heard that, what else had he heard?

"I'm just curious." Alan's tone was soothing, and Don wondered whether his father had always been able to read his expression so easily. If he had, why didn't Alan push for Don to talk more often? Or, was that the very reason he didn't push; because he could see how much Don needed his own space and independence. Maybe his father had a lot more insight than Don had ever given him credit for.

"How much did you hear?" He hated asking, but damage control was always much easier if you had some idea of just how bad the damage was in the first place.

"Nothing much. The breeze carried a few words here and there."

"We'd never eavesdrop on you, Don. You know that." Charlie was getting his view in as well, clearly unimpressed that Don would think otherwise.

"I know, really."

"So, pancakes?" Talk about a dog with a bone. Don couldn't help but laugh.

"Nag much, Dad?" Charlie laughed too, and Alan played along.

"I'm not nagging, as you put it. Merely asking for an answer to a perfectly simple question."

"Daniel's grandmother made meatloaf today." Don sighed quietly.

"So?" Charlie's confusion was clear.

"So, that was something Daniel and his mom always did together. Now he doesn't know how to tell his grandmother that he doesn't want meatloaf – at least for a while – without hurting her feelings."

"Oh." Don actually saw the moment when Alan made the connection to the pancakes. "I could always stop making pancakes, you know."

"No, Dad. Please don't." Don hated this, feeling like he'd somehow disrupted the stability of the world his dad had rebuilt over the last year and a half. "Honestly. I like yours."

"I know that, but your mom's were-"

"Hers. That's all that's different."

"If it helps at all, I prefer Dad's pancakes." Charlie chipped in, and Don could see that his little brother had finally realised what had bothered Daniel so badly about the meatloaf. "Mom always made them the way you liked them, anyway. Dad browns them a bit more around the edges."

"Are you saying that I burn them?"

"Not at all. Don just likes his bland, and I like a bit more flavour." Charlie's deadpan delivery was ruined by the snicker he couldn't fight, eyes alight at the expression on his father's face. Don smiled too, then turned serious again as his thoughts went back to Daniel. He leaned back then, resting his elbows on the step behind him and using the new perspective to watch both Charlie and Alan without them being able to watch him easily. He looked up at the sky and shook his head.

"He's afraid he's going to cry." Don's voice was quiet. He looked down to meet two concerned pairs of eyes, then looked away again to stare at nothing. "He's afraid to cry in front of her. He doesn't want to make her feel sad." Don tilted his head to one side. "I didn't know what to tell him. Other than the fact that I'm sure she wouldn't mind, that she wants to help him through this."

The silence that met this statement was so complete that Don couldn't help but look at Charlie and his father, only to find them staring at each other. Their expressions were mirror images of surprised disbelief, and then Charlie nodded at Alan to speak.

"So you told him it's okay to cry?" Alan was conversational.

"Yeah." Don nodded, and went on. "He said you told him that too."

"At least someone listens when I talk." Alan smiled. "And you told him that his grandmother wants to help him?"

"Well, yeah. Like I said to Daniel, I'm sure she does. After all, she's his family."

"And family do that sort of thing for each other?" Alan sounded like he was closing in on some sort of conclusion, based on the way Charlie was nodding enthusiastically. Don just wished he knew what it was, but nodded in answer to his dad's question.

"And what are Charlie and I to you, my son?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

"A simple one, I think. What's your answer?"

"You're my family." As he said it, Don caught the smug expressions on two faces, and knew that somehow, unknowing, he'd walked right into whatever trap they'd set for him. Alan's nod to Charlie only reinforced that conclusion.

"Perfectly logical, Dad." There was no higher praise from Charlie, who turned his dark gaze on Don next.

"You held me when I cried, after Mom died." Charlie's voice was quiet, but gently clear. "You were there for dad, too."

"Sure, of course I was." Don still wasn't sure quite what point they were trying to make. "Where else would I be?"

"Right. But who was there for you?" Charlie sounded sad now. "You never cried, Don. Not once."

Right then, Don realised that they'd both heard way more than they'd let on. A whole lot more than he'd wanted them to know, more than he felt they needed to know. Taking in the determined set to Charlie's jaw, Don knew this topic wasn't going to go away any time soon. "I'm okay, Charlie. Really."

"Now you are. For the most part." Charlie hedged the admission carefully, and Don knew that his brother had also seen too much in recent months to take everything Don said at face value. Maybe they didn't always understand each other, but they'd grown close enough again to sense what wasn't said.

"I'm talking about then." Charlie waved a hand in a distracted fashion, as if it were possible to point at a particular time in the past, and Don smiled at the unconscious movement. "Why wouldn't you come to us?"

"That wasn't … I couldn't …" Don looked at his dad for help, but saw only the same question in his father's eyes. He leaned forward again, resting his arms back on his knees. He'd carried out raids on arms traffickers that scared him less than where this conversation was heading. What he wouldn't give for a stick of gum to bleed off the tension. "Look, it was hard enough already. You didn't need any more pain to add to yours."

"So you took ours on you instead." Soft and thoughtful, but Don could sense the hidden pain in his dad's words.

"It wasn't like that, Dad. It's just … there was nothing else I could do. I just felt that I would be more help that way."

"Well, your brother and I, we feel a lot like Daniel's grandmother right now." Alan chuckled softly at the baffled expression Don turned on him. "We'd like to help you too."

"Dad." Don laughed out loud at that. "Weren't you listening just now? I told you, I'm fine."

"You weren't so fine half an hour ago." Trust Charlie to keep track of the time.

"That's nothing, Charlie." Don was over his lapse of control, although he could admit privately that this conversation was stretching his composure to the breaking point. "I just felt really sad for Daniel. You know what I mean?"

"Sure. And how about a little sad for yourself as well?"

"Maybe." The admission was grudging, but Charlie knew him too well to let this go easily. "I'd just been looking at all of this," Don waved a hand at the remains of the wedding, "and thinking how much Mom would have loved it all. You know how she was about weddings. And then Daniel called."

Don absently scratched his ear, before resting both hands over his face and leaning his elbows on his knees. His voice was muffled. "Sometimes, I just really miss her. That's all."

He felt Charlie's arm go around his shoulders, and Alan's comforting hand came to rest on his right arm.

"We do too." Charlie murmured quietly, while Alan spoke at the same time. "You're not alone in that."

Don dropped his hands from suspiciously bright eyes, and patted one knee to each side of his own. He left his hands resting there, linked to those who knew him best. Those who always had his best interests at heart, even when they blindsided him with their concern. "I know."

Alan smiled at Don then, point made. "You're never alone." The hand on Don's arm tightened fractionally. "Just you remember that."

"I will." Don smiled back at Alan, and leaned a little further into Charlie's loose embrace.

Sitting there on the step, flanked by his brother and father, shoulder to shoulder against the world, Don savoured the realisation that no matter what happened in his life, he would never truly be alone. He watched with them as sparkling stars and silver moonlight replaced the twilight; another beautiful reminder of what could be found in the world, if you only knew where to look. Don smiled softly and murmured quietly, "And I'm really lucky."


End file.
